


bleeding walls

by KnifingGale



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Bell Needs A Hug, Blood, Brainwashing, Female Bell (Call of Duty), Gen, Hallucinations, MK Ultra, MK Ultra level-stuff, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Paranoia, Psychological Torture, Whump, a real hug Perseus...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifingGale/pseuds/KnifingGale
Summary: Bell was never alone during the procedures of MK Ultra. With every step she took, he'd follow as the ever warm and constant presence at her side.Or in which Perseus is more than a voice in Bell's head during the procedures of MK Ultra.
Relationships: Bell (Call of Duty) & Perseus (Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War), Bell (Call of Duty)/Perseus (Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War), Russell Adler & Bell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	bleeding walls

You stared up into the mind numbingly bright light hanging over your head. It rocked back and forth lazily as you saw one of the figures in white coats above you bump against it with a stifled curse. 

The familiar sound of machines humming in the background and hushed whispers greeted your ears. The buzzing sound was getting closer and closer. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you saw _him._

The glaring white light hid his face from you. All you could see was the olive-green material of his military coat and gloved hands resting on the metal railing of the gurney you were strapped in. 

You blinked once.

There was something about the man that made you want to push past your numb throat to just _speak_ -

“Open your mouth.” One of the figures suddenly spoke, gripping your chin before forcing your face to look upwards at them. They pressed firmly down your chin. 

You stared blankly at the figure, straining to see them through the harsh light. Finally processing their words, you slowly relaxed your jaw. 

As they pushed it in, the rubber material of the mouth guard pressed against your teeth. Sparks of pain erupted from your sore teeth, causing you to groan slightly. However, you heeded their order and bit down on the mouth guard. 

_Pain_ if you complied, _pain_ if you did not. 

A thick leather strap pressed against your forehead as the figure secured it across your head. The once light buzzing in the background grew louder. Instinctively, you tried to jerk your head to the side for the source of the sound. Yet, a white gloved hand forcefully held your jaw, rendering you immobile. 

You could only barely move your head prior to that. The rest of your body was numb to the point you couldn’t even wiggle your toes experimentally. You took a breath through the tube of the mouth guard. 

The buzzing grew stronger and stronger as you felt it hum close to your ears. You moved your head against the strap, barely managing to catch the sight of a crackling paddle out of the corner of your eye. 

The source of the buzzing was coming from it. 

How odd. 

Your breath quickened, coming out in little gasps through the breathing tube. Yet you could find nothing in yourself to fight against the restraints. 

For some inexplicable reason, you found yourself instead staring at the figure of the peculiar man standing at your bedside, his large gloved hands still resting on the rails. You could see his head tilting down to look at you even though the light from above hid his face from view. 

Voices chattered around you in a wordy mess that spiraled into each other. As the light suddenly dimmed, you vaguely noted how he was wearing a gas mask, the kind that easily hid one’s features. You could still make out his grey salt and pepper hair. With nothing better to do, you stared at him curiously.

He was new, after all.

 _New is good_ , you thought distantly as the buzzing of the paddles grow closer and closer. Vaguely, you could hear the sound of a switch being flipped and numbers called out in that clinical, concise manner. 

New meant-

_“Oh, дорогая моя.”_

And then you just saw _white_.

* * *

You didn’t know what to call him. 

_Mr. Gas Mask_. 

You pondered over the name before sighing.

It was rude to name a person without asking first...right? 

You thought of this while curled up in the corner of your cell. You rocked back and forth every so often. Everything was just too cold or too hot unless you sat in that _one_ corner of the cell where the temperature of the air from the vents didn’t reach you.

You were trying to hum, a few broken notes here and there of a song whose name you couldn’t remember and of a language you didn’t know. The notes died in your throat when you suddenly heard _him_.

“ _Вы всегда любили петь._ ”

And there he was. 

_Mr. Gas Mask._

You stared up at him from your little corner in the cell, watching for any sign of potential movement from him. The others wore gas masks too. 

As you thought before, he was _new_.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt you. 

And so you merely watched him. He was leaning against the wall with a rifle in his hands. He tilted his head slightly, looking down at you through the lens of his gas mask. 

“ _Все еще стесняетесь, товарищ?_ ” he said with his voice rather light with amusement. Although, amusement for people meant many different things. The figures in those white coats had sometimes laughed amongst themselves as you convulsed before them on the gurney. 

Thus, you didn’t dare look away from him, trying your best to keep your eyes open.

Looking away could mean _pain_.

You didn’t want _pain_. 

Just as you felt your eyes start to water-

You _blinked_.

Mr. Gas Mask won this round. 

* * *

Mr. Gas Mask didn’t like Mr. Smoker’s Voice.

 _Adler_ , as the voice referred to himself in the words he read off again and again-

But you just called him by his voice. After all, he talked as if he smoked a dozen chimneys each day. It didn’t get any better when those same words droned on and on and on through the headphones on your ears. 

Your companion was often a rather quiet one. He liked to sit on the cold bed at the side of your cell or lean against the wall while peering down thoughtfully at you. Occasionally, he would make remarks in a language you didn’t understand. 

But when you were hauled into the chair in the sterile white room with all of those television sets, things changed. 

Suddenly, Mr. Gas Mask _loved_ to talk. 

And this time...you understood his words. 

“According to your debrief, you woke up in the middle of a firefight-” Mr. Smoker’s Voice had said, droning on as usual in his usual husky way. He sighed occasionally, perhaps taking drags of his cigarette just like you had seen the guards do. 

“ _Do not trust Adler,_ ” Mr. Gas Mask’s voice suddenly interrupted. It was strange, you thought before blinking. It broke your focus on the television sets and the repetitive footage. 

“-defending against VC attack-”

 _“Do not trust him,”_ your companion piped in once more, this time his voice more assertive and demanding-

“For fuck’s sake, Bell,” Mr. Smoker’s Voice said annoyedly over your headphones before sighing irritably with the telltale sound of a buzzer going off. You flinched. That meant the figures in white coats were coming. “ _Focus_ ,” he warned.

You nodded before turning your attention back to the television sets. It was rather easy to find yourself hazily gazing into the looped footage as Mr. Smoker’s Voice droned on and on about “scripts.”

_“Do not listen to Adler-”_

As you looked away once more from the television sets, you heard the sound of booted footsteps approaching nearby. You grasped your seat’s armrests. 

That only meant one thing.

You heard another set of heavy footsteps beside you. You looked up at Mr. Gas Mask from your seated place in the chair. 

“ _У тебя все хорошо. Будь сильным, товарищ_ ,” Mr. Gas Mask said gently, nodding his head slightly down to you. 

It was a small comfort as you found yourself hauled down the same sterile white hallways to the same room and gurney.

...And heard the same buzzing sound approach your head.

And then your vision flashed the same _white_ as it did before. 

* * *

You felt your tongue lie dry and limp against the bottom of your mouth while the figures in white coats dragged you down that sterile white corridor yet again. 

Your feet dragged against the floor, creating a squeaking sound that made you twitch minutely as you tried to _move_.

But you couldn’t.

All you could do was blink, finding yourself on the cold, barren floor of the cell. Everything was _white, white,_ **_white_ ** **-**

But then you felt something warm trickle down your nose to your lips. You slowly managed to bring a hand to your nose only to pull away and see red blood staining your fingers. 

You felt yourself twitch at the sight, a spasm rocking through your body. You blinked as suddenly you saw **_red_ ** \- _not white why why why-_ on the floor. 

You noticed droplets of the crimson warm liquid dripping onto the floor from your nose. You pinched your nose with two fingers before sniffing. 

The floor had to be white, not red. 

Everywhere, you were surrounded in _red, red, red_ -

The sterile white walls slowly but surely became more and more red with blooms of the crimson color coming out in growing splotches on the walls. You felt yourself tremble at the sight. 

It was _wrong_. 

**_The walls were bleeding._ **

You curled up on the floor with your knees tucked against your chest. You rested your head against your knees with your eyes closed, not even daring to look down at the floor. 

Was the floor bleeding?

Were _you_ bleeding? 

If you looked down at your hands, would they too bleed like those walls? Angry red blooms seeping through your skin _out_ of you-

You felt yourself tremble ever so slightly as you took in little breaths. Your body felt so numb and sluggish that you wondered if it was even yours. It was like a puppet with its strings cut. But who...who was the one pulling the strings?

You tasted a familiar, metallic warm substance in your mouth as you bit into your lip fearfully. 

Everything was familiar but _not_.

As you shivered in the cold, cold cell, the sound of footsteps echoed on the walls. You didn’t dare look up. Would he be bleeding as well? 

_No, no, no_ , you shook your head. That was _wrong_. He shouldn’t bleed because-

...why-

Your thoughts were abruptly halted into a sudden quietness by the warm feeling of a large gloved hand cupping your face. You looked up only to find him kneeling down to your level with his hand cupping your face. You couldn’t help but lean into that warmth-

You felt your vision blur as your eyes prickled with heat. Knowing what you would see around you, you threw yourself at him, clutching the olive-green material of his military coat. All you could see was that deep green and thankfully not red.

You felt a shiver wrack your body before you felt yourself begin to relax.

He felt _safe_ ,

But why?

...You didn’t know-

Oh, you never knew. 

Once again your thoughts were cut short as you felt him pull away from you. You sighed dejectedly at the sense of loss before you realized you shouldn’t have expected anything like it anyways. 

Suddenly, you felt another hand cup your other cheek. You looked up this time at him, peering up at the cold expressionless gas mask he always wore. The lens were tinted just enough so that you couldn’t see a person inside of them-

And then you heard the footsteps. Those familiar, heavy footsteps that meant heavy batons and the room spinning round and round-

You felt your hands desperately grip his coat, “Please,” you choked out in a plea. But for what? 

You finally felt warm and safe- _no pain_ **_no pain_ **\- 

And that was going to be taken away. 

Yet as the door slammed open with those footsteps entering the room, you felt your hands relax in their grip on his coat. 

A little small whisper inside of you telling you one thing. 

He can’t save you...or rather he _won’t_. 

This time, you didn’t fight them when they walked you out of that cell. 

You walked _with_ them. 

At least, you knew what you were to them. 

* * *

“What is this man you see?” Mr. Smoker’s Voice asked one day. He was different this time. He no longer took those long breaks to likely puff at his cigarette or sigh. 

You shifted uncomfortably in the seat against the leather restraints at your middle and hands. Even so, you found yourself thankful for the restraints. They were like anchors in the room now spinning around you in a crimson spiral. 

“He...told me not to trust you.” you said slowly. You could have sworn you heard the Voice chuckle slightly. But you focused on anxiously looking out for the telltale sound of a buzzer going off. 

Although, it was hard to tell.

The static of the television sets was only getting louder and _louder-_

And then you saw _him_.

You looked down guiltily, trying to be as subtle as you could about it. You had to listen to the Voice because otherwise it was just _pain, pain, and_ **_pain_ ** **-**

“ _Ты должен быть сильным_ ,” he said assertively, walking up to you. He looked impossibly tall and large, looming over you like that. He looked down at you once again in that cold, expressionless gas mask. 

You couldn’t understand what he said. 

But you knew what he wanted from you. 

It was always the case because you could never afford to be-

You blinked, trying to find the word right on the tip of your tongue. Struggling with it, you shook your head as best as you could with the restraints to yourself.

And so with an impossibly familiar feeling-

You _nodded_.

* * *

You liked him. 

He was a constant warm presence. 

Always in your cell, your head, your thoughts. 

At the same time though, he was _cold_.

Oh, you had tried to be strong, looking away every time he spoke despite the Voice demanding otherwise.

Each time Mr. Gas Mask spoke, you looked away.

Each time you looked away, the buzzer went off.

Each time the buzzer went off, you felt your vision go white again and again and again-

He watched with the same cold, expressionless gas mask of his while you writhed and convulsed before him. You stared wildly at him in a silent plea. 

_please,_ **_please_ ** _, please_ -

Yet he only tilted his head slightly as if watching something _interesting_. You could see your own darkened reflection in that dark reflective lenses of his gas mask. 

...Was he just like them, watching you with that same clinical, detached interest? 

That was your thought every single time you heard the buzzer went off. 

“Bell, listen to me,” you heard Mr. Smoker’s Voice drawl out, “We have a job to do.”

You leaned back against the headrest of the chair you were strapped to. You looked away from the large familiar figure leaning against the wall closest to you. 

You numbly nodded.

 _Please, please,_ **_please just once_ ** _-_

You stared into the television screen. It was a steady, constant presence in the spinning crimson room you always found yourself in here. 

“ _Do not listen to Adler_ ,” he suddenly said. You winced at the way he said those words in his accented voice.

He was _disappointed_. 

But you were tired.

All he did was say those words again and again in the crimson, spinning room you always found yourself alone in with the television sets. He rarely ever said anything to you in the cell, only watching you with that same detached interest. 

...why did they all keep on demanding more and more from you when you had nothing left to give-

You were _nothing_.

“We have a job to do, Bell.” 

* * *

Suddenly, there was less pain. 

Your vision flashed white less, the crimson room spun more slowly in a gentler manner- _like a carousel, Bell_ -and even the Voice seemed less annoyed and demanding than usual. 

Things were _good_. 

But you no longer saw _him_.

The Man in the Gas Mask. 

It’s colder now, you had numbly thought one night as you peered at the usual spot he would sit down on your cot. That hollow feeling in your chest you knew too well returned. 

But he still spoke only to remind you again and again about not trusting the Voice. 

" _Adler is lying to you_ ,” he said tellingly with his voice always a little bit louder than usual. Unlike before, his words reverberated through your skull bouncing around in those little echoes. 

Something was different with everyone.

Mr. Smoker’s Voice was happy.

Mr. Gas Mask was _not_. 

You could nearly hear his displeasure when you walked complacently over to the seat. The room was spinning slowly enough for you to walk by yourself to the seat. The figures in white coats didn’t even bother to strap you in now. 

You looked at the looping footage of the television set as the Voice came over your headphones yet again, a familiar presence as always. 

The Voice was being quite good to you. 

_Less pain._

“He is _lying_ to you,” you heard the voice aggressively say, something almost desperate in his accented voice. You winced with your eyes immediately looking away from the television set to the side, expecting to see the Man in the Gas Mask standing over you, telling you those foreign words again assertively. 

“He is lying to you-” 

And then you heard the bell ring.

You blinked.

Everything was quiet.

Then, the bell rang a second time.

“Look back to the screen. _Focus_ ,” The Voice reminded you. 

You blinked, feeling something shift in your being.

...were you forgetting something?

Shaking your head dazedly, you slowly turned your head back to look at the looping footage of the television set in front of you. 

You didn’t know why but you saw the footage of the soldiers and tanks blur. Your eyes prickled from some heated sensation. You felt something wet trail down your cheek in a warm trail. 

**_“Bell, we have a job to do.”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Jak_the_ATAT for beta-reading this! It really helped me out a lot and I got a lot of great feedback from their suggestions and comments. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
